


Ineffable Whumptober Shorts

by asparkofgoodness



Series: Whumptober 2019 [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Drabbles, Explosion, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Letters, M/M, Nightmare, Scars, Shorts, T.S. Eliot - Freeform, Whumptober 2019, collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-11-22 07:16:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20870312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparkofgoodness/pseuds/asparkofgoodness
Summary: A collection of my shorterGood OmensWhumptober 2019 pieces.Explosion:"The acrid smell of smoke pieced the air, but he no longer noticed its sting."Human shield:"'I cannot take another war,' he whispered, throat tight, forcing himself to meet Crowley’s eyes."Gunpoint:"How can a bag of books be like a gun? He hands it to you, cool as ever, like it means nothing, and yet you’re frozen to the trembling ground, exposed in the crosshairs."Dragged away:“'Try to sleep,' Crowley whispers."Isolation & "stay with me":"Every night, sometime around midnight, Crowley left.""Don't move" & asphyxiation:"Aziraphale was thinking about Eliot so he did not have to think about Crowley, about the books in the bag on his lap, about the church-stone dust coating his shoes."Tear-stained, humiliation, & abandoned:"Fraternize has its origins, as I am sure you know, in the Latin ‘fraternus,’ which means ‘brotherly.’"Scars & ransom:"Ask where they came from.  Ask if they’re from the Fall: you’ll be right."





	1. Firestorm

_Prompt: Explosion_

The acrid smell of smoke pieced the air, but he no longer noticed its sting.Flames crackled, but his mind had stopped registering the sound miles back.As he spoke to the soldier – the next in a long and winding road of obstacles leading, probably, to Armageddon, or, just possibly, to salvation – heat radiated from the Bentley, but he did not sense it.Instead, he shivered, core frozen with frostbitten fear.

Kids on bicycles sped past._Looked eleven.Could be–_

A deafening burst of sound and fire behind him, hot air pawing at the back of his neck.He did not need to turn, told himself not to turn, and yet he turned to seek the source of the sound.Vacant, sandpaper-scratchy yellow eyes settled on the remains of his Bentley.Thick black smoke spiraled up from its skeletal corpse.Like a moth drawn to a flame, gravitating toward its destruction without knowing why, Crowley walked closer to the burning car until his knees gave way.

And now Aziraphale was yelling about something, gesturing wildly, and Crowley was answering and forgetting his words as soon as they were spoken.His eyes did not leave the Bentley.The thought came to him: if his will had held the car together all the way from London, then this combustion marked his failure.Distracted by arriving here, by finding Aziraphale alive and on Earth, he had relaxed enough to let it go, to let the fire win.

Watching the flames lap at the metal, listening to the groans of its collapse, he could not help but think of Falling.Then, too, so long ago, the feasting fire had torn its way through every part of him.His energy, his mind, all consumed in blazing pain.The last to catch, his feathers had fallen around him in flakes of smoldering ash.He could do nothing but watch the embers die.When it finally ended, the first thought he could form: _I am alone_.No one around, not within eyesight, not that he could sense.In Heaven, he had never been alone.

He was not alone now.Behind him, people were shouting._Aziraphale._Yes, Aziraphale, miraculously, stood behind him somewhere.Crowley could feel his presence as powerfully as he could feel the heat emanating from the Bentley.Inexplicably, Aziraphale was here, back on Earth, not lost to the Hellfire of the bookshop.The angel was the one thing in Crowley’s life untouched by flames, something he could still salvage from the wreckage of the day.And Aziraphale needed his help, an old, familiar narrative Crowley could steady himself in.Time to end his vigil, carry on.He picked up the hand crank, metal scalding his palm, though he failed to notice.“Rest in peace.”


	2. Shielded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #4: human shield
> 
> “I cannot take another war,” he whispered, throat tight, forcing himself to meet Crowley’s eyes.

_ Prompt: human shield _

The days after the world did not end felt stolen to them both.Neither trusted the quiet passage of time, the peaceful lengths of afternoons spent in the bookshop or the park.It would take time, growing accustomed to being left alone after millennia of constant surveillance.How do you stop censoring your thoughts?How do you stop worrying over every action?How do you learn to say what you mean instead of what is safest?And just how much safety had they carved out for themselves?For how long?Neither knew, and each grappled with the uncertainty in his own way.Crowley put on a firm mask of cool apathy and pretended to be just fine, thank you; Aziraphale flashed nervous smiles that did not reach his eyes and lost himself in his books and thoughts.

On a particularly bad night, when wine just seemed to make it all worse, somehow, Aziraphale had trailed off mid-sentence, leaving Crowley waiting patiently in the silence that had settled over the shop.When he couldn’t take it anymore, Crowley softly drifted over to crouch in front of Aziraphale’s armchair.“Angel?” he asked, looking up at Aziraphale’s haunted expression.He reached out a hand to touch his arm, second-guessed himself and paused, pushed through the doubt and set fingertips down gently on grey fabric.

At the touch, Aziraphale returned to the present moment, eyes darting down to meet Crowley’s.“Sorry, my dear,” he said with a sad, self-conscious smile.“What were you saying?”

Crowley shook his head.“Doesn’t matter.What is it?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Not nothing.C’mon.Tell me.”

A pained look on his face, Aziraphale drew up the courage to voice his fears honestly, not in the measured, half-true way that used to be necessary for self-preservation.“It’s just that, well, you said, after our trials, that this is breathing space, before…”

Crowley cursed himself for those words.“The big one, yeah.Look, what do I know?It’s all ineffable, right?That could’ve been it.It’s been quiet ever since, hasn’t it?”Aziraphale, staring down at his hands, looked unconvinced, so Crowley set his jaw and slid his hand over to rest on top of Aziraphale’s.The gesture earned him a small, unsteady smile.

“It has, yes.”Aziraphale swallowed.“But in my experience, when two parties want a war, they don’t give up until blood has been shed.” 

Aziraphale, the only angel who had lived among humans, could not help but think about the many wars of Earth: the bloodlust of invaders and generals and ordinary men, the terrible journey from the spear to the nuclear bomb, the battlecries in so many languages, the dead.Occasionally, acting on orders, and more often, acting on his own desire to help, Aziraphale had witnessed many of mankind’s major battles.He remembered fumbling with morphine and tourniquets in trenches; he knew the smell of Agent Orange and the sound of swords on Spartan shields; he had held the hands of so many dying soldiers he could no longer recall all of their names, but he could picture each agonized face.Once, he had watched in horror as an advancing army used innocent civilians as human shields.Starvation.Genocide.Torture.How could he explain war to Crowley, who had largely stayed far away from mankind’s conflicts?Whose memories of that ancient war between Heaven and the rebelling angels had surely been wiped clean when he fell?Some of it was beyond telling.

“I cannot take another war,” he whispered, throat tight, forcing himself to meet Crowley’s eyes._You know I fought against your kind in one, _he thought but could never say._I led other angels into battle.I used my sword, and I was good at it and brave and absolutely horribly blind to how wrong all of it was._“I don’t have it in me.I couldn’t.”

Crowley tightened his hold on Aziraphale’s hands.“You won’t have to, Aziraphale.They won’t try again, you’ll see.I’m sure of it now.Been a while, and nothing.We sent a message, loud and clear.They’re too scared of us to consider it.I’d be surprised if they even tried to contact either of us again.We’re free of it all.”He hoped his firm tone and steady hands concealed his own uncertainty._If they do come for us_, he vowed silently, _I will do everything in my power to shield you from them.You deserve this peace._

With a little nod, Aziraphale said, “I do hope you’re right.I am enjoying this quiet” _with you_, he almost added, _because of you, _but he stopped himself without truly knowing why.He would say it, soon: just not yet, not tonight, amid the talk of fear and battle.He realized Crowley had not let go of his hands, and without thinking, he turned one of his so that their palms touched, interlacing their fingers.“Thank you.”And Crowley, forcing back instinctual sharp words and denials, accepted his gratitude with a gentle nod.

A year later, when he discovered a pure white envelope with gold angelic writing on it perched on Aziraphale’s desk, a memo waiting to be opened, Crowley immediately set it aflame and started house-hunting outside the borders of the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt proved challenging, to say the least! I tried to make this one a tad fluffier, too, since I've just been awful to poor Crowley lately.


	3. One in the Chamber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #5: gunpoint
> 
> "How can a bag of books be like a gun? He hands it to you, cool as ever, like it means nothing, and yet you’re frozen to the trembling ground, exposed in the crosshairs."

_Prompt: gunpoint_

For humans, gunpoint is a confrontation with death.In your field of vision, a potential execution hovers, only lacking the slight pressure of a finger on a trigger.Your life may flash before your eyes; you may cry and plead for more time; you may freeze or you may run; you may escape, or you may die.The true terror lies in the uncertainty, being at the mercy of another person.Can you say what they need to hear in order to lower their gun, and can you say it fast enough?Or will your voice be silenced mid-sentence and never sound again?

For an angel, gunpoint is an inconvenience, an embarrassment.The potential for paperwork and uncomfortable executions.A wish for a demon, of all people – not that Crowley counted as _people_, even, and you haven’t spoken since the holy water argument.No hope of rescue today.With a sigh, you resign yourself to discorporation.

And then, the thudding of church doors flung open, the gentle tap of shifting feet._It can’t be._Yet, it is.Of course, you have been keeping a close eye on his activities, or lack thereof, but you had absolutely no idea that he had been surveilling you.Somehow, he knew you had backed yourself into a corner once again: this time, completely accidentally, unlike other, more intentional perilous scenarios of the past.

Pretend, at first, he’s not here to save you.A demon working with the Nazi’s.You’re not surprised.Don’t let your face betray the quickened beating of your foolish heart.Don’t look too glad to see him.When he puts himself in danger for you, when he reveals his reliance on your miracle to save you both, don’t read into it, just nod and concentrate.Shield him with your love, that love all angels have for every creature.

How can a bag of books be like a gun?He hands it to you, cool as ever, like it means nothing, and yet you’re frozen to the trembling ground, exposed in the crosshairs. Centuries upon centuries of encounters - the charming smiles, the cautious circling, the grand gestures - flash before you as the pieces of a baffling puzzle come together. You want to beg for mercy: not from him, but Her. _Please, this cannot be. I cannot love him. I cannot stand the fire of this need, and you know I cannot act on it or we will both be burned alive, so you must smother it. Please. _You know that will do you no good, when he’s the one holding the gun. What could you say to make him lower it? Nothing you have not already said over the years to hold him at arm’s length from you, remind him that you’re enemies, but here it still hovers in front of you, the terrifying realization that you love him in a way you’ve never loved anyone before. 

You watch him walk through the rubble toward his car.You think that no other demon, not even any angel, would have known you well enough or been kind enough to save your books.You could tell him that.You could tell him everything._I love you.Not just today.I suspect now that I’ve loved you for a long time, blindly, in secret.Been too stubborn to see it.And I know you love me, too.I can sense it, have for thousands of years.What do we do?_A question without an answer should not be asked.Confession from either one of you could mean death.You must silence yourself, learn to live in the terrifying uncertainty of a concealed weapon with the safety off.Hope he never pulls the trigger.


	4. Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #6: dragged away
> 
> “Try to sleep,” Crowley whispers.

_ Prompt: dragged away _

“Try to sleep,” Crowley whispers, explaining how it calms the mind, refreshes the body.Already dazed, lethargic, Crowley’s limbs lazily tangled with his, he tries.Closes his eyes, turns off his thoughts.He may be an angel, but his physical form is human, and its brain fires the way human brains do: surprisingly, to him, he dreams. 

Pleasant scenes, at first.The park, the bookshop, a restaurant, a theater.The park, again, but different.A black cloak dematerializing.A band playing.Suddenly, he is alone.He sees Crowley’s desperate warning in his own blue eyes as he is dragged away, and Aziraphale knows it’s part of the plan but tries to run after him anyway, unable to stand still while angels pull Crowley up to Heaven to face Aziraphale’s punishment.Bitter, cold fear.If it doesn’t work?Is this the end?Not even a chance to say “goodbye” or the thousand other words Aziraphale has choked back for so long.A few steps forward and then the sting of pain on his back.His face lowers to the cold pavement, but it is soft and warm and it is Crowley’s hand on his cheek, he realizes, blinking once, twice.“Angel,” voice sad and low, “it’s okay.Just a dream.”

“You were… They took you…”

“C’mere,” and Crowley gently pulls him over to lay his head on Crowley’s chest, wrapping his arms around him.“I’m right here.”

Aziraphale studies Crowley’s face until he shakes the last remnants of the dream.“Yes,” he says, smiling.“You are.”

“Mm.”Yellow eyes fall shut.“I’d murder anyone who tried to take me anywhere right now.You included,” he adds, reading Aziraphale’s mind.“Too early for breakfast.Going back to sleep.”

“Sleep tight,” and Aziraphale listens as Crowley’s breathing slows, watches the reflections of the pale pinks of sunrise shimmer on the bedroom wall until the room is filled with light and Crowley wakes, returning to him once again.


	5. Stay Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #7: isolation; Prompt #17: "stay with me"
> 
> Every night, sometime around midnight, Crowley left.... One night, as Crowley stood and stretched, excuses waiting on the tip of his tongue, Aziraphale reached out and grabbed his wrist.

_Prompt: isolation & "stay with me"_

A pattern had been established in the liberating peace after the failed apocalypse, and it began with dinner.Aziraphale would choose the restaurant; Crowley would choose the wine.The evening passed in pleasant conversation, contented noises from Aziraphale, appreciative stares from Crowley.When the last morsel of dessert had been enjoyed, it was back to the bookshop in the Bentley, more wine, more conversation.They were beginning to relax into the silence from above and below. 

Each night, they moved a little closer. That first night, after the Ritz, Aziraphale held out a wine glass in such a way that Crowley’s fingers had to brush against his.The third night, he touched Crowley’s arm as he recalled the name of a particularly spicy curry he thought Crowley would like.A week in, after filling their glasses, he settled on the couch next to Crowley instead of in his usual armchair, and Crowley sat in silence for ten minutes after, only moving to take large sips of his wine.

And every night, sometime around midnight, Crowley left.

“Getting late,” he’d say.“Need my beauty sleep,” or “I’ll leave you to your reading.” And Aziraphale — who did have other activities on his mind, but, for once, reading was not one of them — watched him leave, every night, feeling suddenly, absolutely alone as soon as the door shut.

One night, as Crowley stood and stretched, excuses waiting on the tip of his tongue, Aziraphale reached out and grabbed his wrist.He barely knew why, except that he could not bear the sight of Crowley’s back, shoulders tightly braced against the late summer chill as he walked out the door.Slowly, he was learning to trust his instincts, to stop second-guessing himself, especially where Crowley was concerned.

At the touch, Crowley froze.A few seconds passed.Slowly, he turned his head, eyebrow raised in a question Aziraphale did not feel prepared to answer. “Stay,” Aziraphale asked. “Here.With me.Please.” Crowley’s lips parted but he did not respond. “I... I hate this, every night, when you... If you want to sleep, I do have a bed, you know, upstairs, and, well, I don’t use it but it is quite comfortable, if you... I’m sure it can’t compare to yours, but I just thought...” He was talking to the floor, voice growing quieter, frustrated with himself for not being able to say it. Crowley continued to stare, patient, holding his breath. “It’s... too quiet, when you leave.”_Closer_, he thought._Not quite, though._

Crowley blinked, then sat back down. Aziraphale smiled, relieved.“Thank you.”

“Course.” A minute went by, each sitting quietly with their thoughts. Then, Crowley muttered, “thought you liked the quiet.”

“I do.Well, I did, before.Now, it feels… a bit lonely, I suppose.Before, most evenings, I had memos to write, assignments to fulfill, other angels popping down to check in or calling me up for reports.Now, well, that’s all gone, and I don’t mind, really,” he hurried to explain.“I don’t answer to them anymore.I wouldn’t.It’s just the isolation of it all that will take some getting used to, that’s all.And then, you…”Crowley’s eyes widened just a little, hopeful but trying to hide it.“You’ve been spoiling me with your company, and I’m afraid I’ve gotten rather used to it.”Cheeks slightly pink, Aziraphale met Crowley’s gaze and then looked down at his hands.“It was never their company I wanted, anyway.I think you know that, after all we’ve been through together.”

His heart hammering in his chest, Crowley swallowed, desperately searching for words but coming up empty.For six thousand years, he had wanted little else but for Aziraphale to ask him not to leave – he always ran, knowing his place, not trusting what he would do if he lingered, let himself borrow more time – and now he did not know what to say next.

Aziraphale glanced over and noticed the lost expression on his face.He gave a sad smile and said, “I’m being a bit maudlin, aren’t I?Never mind.Forget I asked.”

“No,” Crowley nearly shouted, “I, uh, no, you’re not.I understand, and I will.Stay, that is.As long as you like, angel.Obviously.”

Aziraphale’s expression eased, a weight lifting from his shoulders.“Wonderful.”

Picking up his glass again, Crowley looked out across the darkened bookshop.“Thought you’d never ask,” he whispered into his wine.Aziraphale, who heard but pretended not to, smiled and reached for his own glass.In the process, he shifted enough that his knee came to rest against Crowley’s outstretched leg.Neither moved, keeping that point of contact constant until Aziraphale decided on croissants for breakfast.Together, hands brushing once, twice, and not pulling away, they walked out into the warm light of the rising sun.


	6. Questions and Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #12: "don't move" & Prompt #19: asphyxiation
> 
> Aziraphale was thinking about Eliot so he did not have to think about Crowley, about the books in the bag on his lap, about the church-stone dust coating his shoes. As the Bentley slowed to a stop outside his bookshop, he wished time would do the same. _Don’t move,_ he longed to say.

_ Prompts: "don't move" and asphyxiation _

Fog rolled, low and thick, down the darkened street.Aziraphale was thinking of T.S. Eliot, the lovely way he had described London’s yellow fog in “Prufrock,” one of his favorites.Tom, who he had met through Ezra in the early days of Tom’s career, when he was new to the city, somehow managed to capture it perfectly: London on a smoky evening, anesthetized by ether and indecision, a monumental question pooling in curling tendrils of air around every streetlight.Aziraphale was thinking about Eliot so he did not have to think about Crowley, about the books in the bag on his lap, about the church-stone dust coating his shoes.As the Bentley slowed to a stop outside his bookshop, he wished time would do the same._Don’t move, _he longed to say._Don’t leave.I need time, just some time to sort this out.Wait for me._Prufrock’s London had time enough: time to wonder, to second-guess, to hide in mermaid song avoiding human questions.Not being human, Aziraphale should have even more time, ageless and timeless.And yet he could only steal moments, grasping at hours and coming away with minutes slipping through his fingers.So many years alone, and now, just this, barely half an hour and an impossible question that sparked to life in the touch of a hand against his.

Crowley stopped the car but did not look at him._“There will be time, there will be time,” _echoed a voice in Aziraphale’s head, _but will there?_The human world had gone to war with itself for the second time.Every day, they invented new horrors.One angel could only heal and help so much; he feared upstairs would call him back, deem him inefficient.He feared facing Crowley’s silence again the next time he refused to supply him with the only thing that could destroy him, destroy them both.Worst of all, he feared no amount of time could untangle his desires, unfreeze his tongue, unchain them from all that fixed them to opposite sides.He glanced at Crowley, saw his eyes flick over toward him expectantly._Invite him in.Thank him, not in a way they could hear.Ask him, ask him something, anything, pick a question.Pretend you don’t know the answer.“What is it that hovers between us?”(You know love as well as you know light and beauty.)“Do you love me?”(Stronger than anything you’ve ever felt before.)“Do I love you?’(Yes, yes, you’re certain now.)“What do we do now?”(Nothing.Return to silence.Survive.)_No, he didn’t dare.

“Don’t move” slipped out of his mouth.Hand shaking, he reached over across the shadowed space between them and lifted a shard of stained glass from the shoulder of Crowley’s jacket.It caught the light from the street lamps, glittering brilliantly for a second, then falling dull.

“Thanks,” Crowley said, still staring straight ahead.How fine the line between sentiments they could accept and ones they had to reject, to recall, choke back down.If only Crowley knew what he had really asked of him._Did he?_He hadn’t hurried Aziraphale from the car.But if he were to say _“I won’t, angel.I’ll stay still until you’re ready,” _Aziraphale would deny it all, rush away._“That is not what I meant at all.”_

“It’s getting late.I should go.”Something in him cracked as he said it.“I appreciate the ride, and the rescue, all of it.”A quick smile and a nod, and he opened the car door.As he stepped out into the damp haze of the fog, fighting the way Crowley’s presence magnetically drew him in, he felt his breath shudder to a stop in his chest.The smoke of the evening, or the questions curled within it, flooded his lungs, a slow asphyxiation.He climbed the stairs, feet falling firmly on solid, dry ground, drowning all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavily inspired by T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"


	7. Unpacking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #14: tear-stained, prompt #25: humiliation, & prompt #26: abandoned
> 
> Crowley’s curiosity was too strong. Without stopping to consider boundaries or consequences, he tugged the envelope free from the twine and pulled out the letter it contained. Aziraphale’s neat cursive looped across the pale blue page that was bordered by golden embellishments. The first word, he realized with a start, was his own name. As he read the next lines, his eyes widened.
> 
> "Fraternize has its origins, as I am sure you know, in the Latin ‘fraternus,’ which means ‘brotherly.’"

Of course, Aziraphale insisted on packing the old-fashioned way.Aziraphale, whose flat looked like one of those homes featured on that “Hoarders” show that Crowley put on, sometimes, when Aziraphale was hopelessly lost in a book and Crowley couldn’t find anything better to watch.If Crowley actually wanted to live, sometime this century, in the cottage they had purchased, he would have to help with the packing.

After the tenth time Aziraphale reminded him to “do be careful” with something hardly even breakable, he slipped out of the room and downstairs to the peace of the bookshop.He knew better than to even think about touching the books.A stack of empty boxes appeared next to the desk, and Crowley began to pack away the papers, pens, and notebooks, drawer by drawer.In the bottom drawer, tucked underneath a wooden box, he found a bundle of envelopes tied together with string.As he moved to pack them up, something gave him pause: there were two small water marks blurring the ink of what looked like the letter C on the top envelope.

Crowley’s curiosity was too strong.Without stopping to consider boundaries or consequences, he tugged the envelope free from the twine and pulled out the letter it contained.Aziraphale’s neat cursive looped across the pale blue page that was bordered by golden embellishments.The first word, he realized with a start, was his own name.As he read the next lines, his eyes widened.

“Fraternize has its origins, as I am sure you know, in the Latin ‘fraternus,’ which means ‘brotherly.’With the natural evolution of language, it has come to signify sympathy for one’s enemy.I see now, after thinking it over, why you took such offense at the term.I may rely on rhetoric of sides when we converse, but I do know that we are no longer true enemies, Crowley.I know you were right when you said we have much in common, but I do hope you can understand my caution.Admitting this fact openly would put you in immense danger, and I refuse to compromise your safety.You may be willing to take risks, prepared to do the unspeakable if backed into a corner, but I cannot support that behavior. <strike> When I think about living, on Earth or in Heaven, without you, I </strike> Enemies, then, we are not.

The older sense of the word fits us even less.We may have both begun as angels, but we are ‘brothers’ no longer.What are we, then, now?” 

The next few lines had been scribbled over until they were illegible.He skipped to the next decipherable sentence.“I cannot tell you any of this in person.Even if it was not a terrible risk to us both, to have this conversation out loud, I doubt you would tolerate my company at the moment, and I do not blame you, after the way I stormed off.I do stand by one of my statements that afternoon: I cannot give you what you asked for.If that costs me your companionship, then I am prepared to pay that price, but I do hope it does not come to that.I do believe you spoke truthfully when you said you do not need me.I, however, do need– "

“There you are!You haven’t touched the first editions, have you?”The letter had so captivated Crowley that he hadn’t heard Aziraphale descend the stairs or walk over to the desk.At the sound of his voice, Crowley quickly tossed the letter in the box next to him.“The oils on your fingers can…”Aziraphale’s eyes fell on the empty envelope in Crowley’s lap.“What are you…”

“Nothing,” Crowley spat out, grabbing the envelope.“Packing up your desk.”He moved to throw the envelope in the box, too, but Aziraphale snatched it from his hand, opened it, realized it was empty, and closed his eyes with a sigh. 

“Sorry, look, I know I shouldn’t have.”Crowley scrambled for an adequate apology.“Wasn’t right of me to pry, I know.I, uh – I’m sorry.I just, well, I saw the initial on the envelope and I…”

“Well, I suppose I did intend for you to read it.”Aziraphale set the envelope down on the desk and sat down in his chair.“Not now, of course, but back then, when I wrote it.”Crowley looked up at him from where he sat on the floor, questions in his eyes.“Rather embarrassing, now, really,” Aziraphale said with a shy smile.

“Why’d you keep it?” Crowley asked.

“As you’ve been so kindly pointing out all morning, I can be a bit of a packrat.”

“No, not that.Why didn’t you send it in the first place?”

Aziraphale looked away, sadness clouding his face.“I did try.Thought I’d hand-deliver it, to make sure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands, but you didn’t answer the door.After a number of attempts, I started to worry that something was wrong, so I let myself in and realized you were asleep.”He recalled the peaceful expression on Crowley’s face, how he had lingered at the foot of his bed for far too long, watching over him.“I didn’t want to disturb you, and I couldn’t leave it there, in case any of your associates stopped by.I kept trying, for a while, but then it became clear that you wanted your space, so I let you be.I wrote you other letters, after that one.Ones I knew you would never read.I thought it might help me miss you less, and by the time I realized I was wrong, it had become a habit.”Aziraphale shrugged and fell silent.

Guilt grew in Crowley as he listened.Sleep had been an escape from it all: the constant fear of being discovered by Head Office and punished for his transgressions; the never-ending effort of building and rebuilding his defenses; the pain of unrequited, impossible, inescapable love.He assumed the angel would appreciate the respite from Crowley’s questions and bitter anger.He had never considered that his self-inflicted isolation would feel like abandonment to Aziraphale.

Setting a hand gently on Aziraphale’s knee, Crowley said, “I didn’t know,” a statement that encompassed so many truths they had been discovering since the planet’s near-destruction.“Thought you’d be thankful for the break from me,” he cautiously joked.

Aziraphale frowned in response.“The opposite, actually.You had me very worried.”

“How?By sleeping?”

“Right before you decided to sleep for almost a hundred years, which I must say is excessive, even for you, you asked me for something you could have used to… to end your life.”He covered Crowley’s hand with his own.“I worried you… would never wake up,” he admitted.

Crowley huffed.“Angel, I told you back then, I didn’t want it for me.I wanted it for exactly what I ended up using it for: protection from those idiots, when they finally wised up and realized what we’d, y’know, been up to.”

“Yes, well, forgive me for not believing you at the time, but I knew how unhappy you were, and I… I couldn’t change that, not then, I-"

“I was fine,” he interrupted.

Aziraphale’s brows knit together.“You weren’t,” he said gently.“Neither of us were.”

“Not your fault,” Crowley muttered at the floor, uncomfortable.

“In a way, yes, it was.You have always been… ahead of me.Even then, I knew how you felt, what you hoped for from me, and yet I couldn’t…”Aziraphale’s voice caught in his throat as Crowley lifted his yellow eyes to meet Aziraphale’s blue ones.“I’m so…”

“No, don’t– Don’t apologize.You… Well, we…”The right words hovered just out of his reach.He shifted forward onto his knees so his face was almost level with Aziraphale’s.“We couldn’t have, then.Not without… I knew it.Didn’t blame you.”He could feel Aziraphale’s hand trembling where it lay over his.“It wasn’t– Not your fault.Please, don’t think that.”

Eyes shining with tears, Aziraphale nodded slightly, then leaned forward to kiss Crowley softly.In the kiss, Crowley could sense Aziraphale’s relief: relief from guilt that Crowley wished he hadn’t felt at all.Someday, he would explain to Aziraphale the careful thought that had gone into his request for holy water.The nights of wondering how he would defend them both when the time came.How he could make Hellfire with a snap of his fingers, taking care of any uptight angels that came to punish Aziraphale.Other demons, though, he couldn’t get rid of, and his lies would only keep them at bay for so long.Angels could be merciless, but demons knew how to make you hurt.Holy water was the only real insurance against them. 

With holy water, he could protect Aziraphale against any harm.Harm that would come to him because of Crowley.Because Crowley could not stop questioning, could not stop prying and finding ways into Aziraphale’s life, could not stop loving him.Someday, he would tell Aziraphale that he had slept those years away because he was tired, yes, but also because he did not trust himself to keep away from Aziraphale for too long, and he felt the threat of danger growing with every minute they spent at each others’ sides.

Today, he wanted to set the past aside, focus on the future.Aziraphale must have felt similarly, for he pulled away and said, “Shall we get back to packing?”

“We could be finished in a second if you’d just let me do it the easy way,” Crowley said in his most tempting tones.

Aziraphale stood and stooped to press a kiss to Crowley’s forehead.“Some tasks are better done slowly and with care, dear.And we have the time.”Crowley knew he was right.Time, something they had never truly had before, stretched out before them, full of promises of peaceful, sunny mornings in bed and dark, gorgeous nights under the stars.Time to themselves, time to talk and heal and love each other openly, finally.Time spent in a cottage they would both call home.


	8. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #15: scars & Prompt #27: ransom

He wakes up to Aziraphale’s fingertips on his back.In the haze of the morning sun and the remnants of a pleasant dream, he comes to slowly, keeping his eyes closed, arching into the touch until his mind catches up.Registers the skip of the fingers over jagged skin.Realizes, eyes flying open, muscles tensing.“Oh,” Aziraphale exclaims, and the fingers disappear.“Sorry I startled you.”

He rolls over and drapes an arm over his eyes, not ready to see the sympathy he knows is plastered across Aziraphale’s face.In the silence, he can feel the concern radiating from him, but he cannot, he will not bring it up.If Aziraphale wants to know, he will have to ask.

_And he will, of course_, he thinks, cursing himself._Careless.Stupid.Not now, not after last night.Can’t we just have this?_He wonders why he must always pay a ransom for every happy moment, every smile, every hour spent together.There is always a price; there is always an exchange.Even now, as if saving the Earth and several billions of humans was just not enough to buy them one perfect night and one peaceful morning, too. 

Maybe it was not too late to find his clothes, to dress and escape the questions he knew were forming on Aziraphale’s lips.He moved his arm and squinted out across the dusty bedroom. 

“How’d you sleep?” 

_Faster.Hurry.“_Fine.” Sitting up, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his back to Aziraphale.

“What would you say to a spot of breakfast?”He could hear the doubt in the question, knew Aziraphale really meant to ask him not to leave.

“Seen my shirt?”

“Crowley,” quiet and gentle.A warm hand, hesitant, on his bare shoulder.He held his breath and braced himself.“Are you… upset?”

Not the question he had anticipated.“Upset?”

“Last night, I… I hope you aren’t regretting, well, what we–“

A bark of astonished laughter escaped him.“Aziraphale, for… wherever’s sake, don’t be ridiculous.”He ran a hand through his tousled hair, knowing Aziraphale expected a clearer response than that, despite the hours of evidence that should have proven his fears unfounded.“I’m not upset, and I know you know I have absolutely zero regrets about last night.”

In Aziraphale’s exhale, he could almost hear his relieved smile come and go.“Glad to hear it.But, well, you do seem… in a hurry.Plans today?”

_The world was supposed to have gone up in flames two days ago.What plans could I possibly have?_“No plans.”He couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer.“What do you really want to ask, angel?”

He felt Aziraphale freeze behind him.“I… I’m not sure what you mean.”

_Ask where they came from.Ask if they’re from the Fall: you’ll be right.Ask if it hurt, the fire, the collision.Ask if I felt each feather catch and burn away, singeing skin where they fell.Ask if I’ve tried to heal the scars, since then.I’ll tell you that I haven’t.I’ll tell you now, if you need to ask.It’s what I get, for letting you see._

“Crowley?”Aziraphale appeared at his side, fully dressed.“I just want to know if you’re alright, dear.”He laid a warm hand on Crowley’s thigh and waited for an answer, searching Crowley’s eyes.

“_That’s it?” _he almost said, but he bit back the sharp remark as the layers of the question dawned on him.“Yeah.Yeah, I’m alright.”He pressed a grateful kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek.“Better than that, in fact.”

A kiss for a smile.A kind question for an honest answer.A setting aside of the darkness – not forever, just for now – for another moment in the light.Crowley could concede to these exchanges, a new deal for a new universe.With a snap, he was fully dressed.“Let’s see about breakfast, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can follow me on Tumblr as [thetunewillcome](https://thetunewillcome.tumblr.com/), and please do leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed any of these.


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